Wild Wild West 1. Just a Cold

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**The Night of the Ambitious Arsonist**  
A Wild Wild West story  
By Deana

Takes place immediately after 'The Night of the Watery Death'.  
The scene at the end where Artie had a cold was so funny; I just had to continue it!

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Jim West opened the door to the train and strolled in, after a wonderful night on the town. It was eleven o'clock, and he could think of nothing but the beautiful blue eyes of his blond-haired date. Still smiling, he was so engrossed in his thoughts that he was startled when he heard coughing coming from Artie's compartment as he passed it. Having completely forgotten that his friend had caught a cold, he backtracked and opened the door.

Artemus was sitting up in his bed, blowing his nose.

Jim stared, smiling at Artie's mussed-up hair. "Hey," he said. "How you feeling?"

Artie started to put his handkerchief down beside himself on the bed, before he made a face and threw it towards the trash bin in the far corner without looking. It landed right in. "I'm all right Jim, it's just a cold."

Jim's smile turned into a frown as he noticed that Artie's face looked flushed. He strode over to the bed and reached out his hand to feel his forehead, but Artie held up an arm to stop him.

"What're you doing?" Artie said, trying to play dumb.

Jim reached out again, and this time, when Artie tried to block it, Jim grabbed his wrist with his other hand and pushed it down, grabbing Artie's other wrist at the same time and holding them tightly with one hand.

Artie sighed, realizing that he was found out.

Jim felt the heat radiating from Artie's forehead. "You have a fever. Why didn't you tell me? I wouldn't have gone out if I knew."

"Which is _why_ I didn't," said Artie, pulling his wrists free from his friend's grip. "I'm a grown man, Jim, I've been sick before, you know. Did you have a good time?" he asked, trying to change the subject.

Jim sighed, feeling guilty. "Yeah, I did."

Artie smiled. "Good." He shifted to lie down. "I'm going to sleep. G'night, Jim."

Jim knew that he was being dismissed…Artie didn't want him to worry. "Do you need anything?"

Artie shook his head, eyes closed. "Just a good night's sleep. I'll be fine in the morning."

Jim doubted that. "I'll be up for a while, if you need something."

"Thanks, Jim, but I'm fine. Goodnight."

"'Night, Artie." He watched his friend for a few seconds before leaving. Going into his own compartment, he changed his clothes and started to head into the main room before changing his mind, unsure if he would hear Artie from there should his friend need anything. Instead, he went back to Artie's door and opened it, poking his head in and seeing that his friend was already asleep. He left Artie's door ajar, as well as his own, before getting into his bed, where he laid awake for a while, troubled. Artie had seemed perfectly fine all day…showing no indication that he was feeling unwell. Jim hoped that his friend would get over his illness as fast as he'd come down with it.

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In the middle of the night, Jim suddenly woke, and lay there wondering why. It took a few seconds for him to remember that Artie was sick, and he quickly got out of bed, wanting to check his fever. As he left his compartment, he heard a soft cough come from behind the next door, and he quietly pushed it open further. "Artie?" he whispered.

"Sorry, Jim," he heard. "I didn't mean to wake you."

Jim came further into the room and lit the lamp low. "You didn't, I was already awake. How do you feel?"

"I told you I'm all right," Artie said. "There's no reason to worry."

Jim felt his friend's forehead again, and found it unchanged. "Your fever hasn't risen, at least."

Artie coughed again, pulling the covers over his head. When he moved them back down, he smiled at his friend's puzzled look. "I don't want you to catch it. You shouldn't even come in here."

"I never catch anything," Jim told him. "I'll get you some water." He left the room and went into the galley, filling a pitcher and grabbing a glass. He filled it and brought it into his friend's room, handing him the glass and setting the pitcher on the nightstand.

Artie half-sat up and drank it gratefully. "Thanks."

"No problem, pal. If you need anything, call me," Jim said.

"Stop worrying. It's just a cold."

Jim said nothing, knowing that if a fever was involved, it was probably influenza, which could get bad. "Go to sleep. You never know when Richmond will send us another case."

Artie sighed at that, which made him cough. "G'night, again."

"G'night."

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When Jim woke in the morning, the first thing he did was peek into Artie's room. He found his friend sleeping deeply, with the covers flung off the upper half of his body. Jim tip-toed into the room and very gently placed his hand on his friend's forehead, careful not to wake him. He found, to his relief, that there was barely any fever at all, and he quietly crept back out. Maybe Artie had gotten lucky, and would escape with just a quick, mild case.

He went into the galley and made coffee, before suddenly hearing a familiar sound. He took the pot with him and went into the main room, finding the telegraph signaling an incoming message. He answered the signal and picked up a piece of paper and a pencil, writing it down. Once the message finished, he tapped an acknowledgement and read it again with a sigh.

"What's it say? I didn't catch most of that."

Jim turned to see that Artie was standing just inside the room, leaning against the wall of the hallway. "The Parker Gang was spotted just over the Nevada border…the arsonists. We're ordered to investigate. I'll tell them to send someone else."

Artie frowned. "Why?" He then had a coughing fit, sticking his head inside his robe.

Jim blinked, thinking the answer obvious. "_That's_ why. You're sick, Artie."

"It's just a cold," he answered, his voice sounding hoarse as he sat at the table.

"That's the third time you've said that since last night," said Jim. "How are we supposed to blend in and not be noticed with you walking around coughing like that?" Jim asked. "You'll stick out like a sore thumb."

Artie thought for a minute. "I'll pretend to be a victim of consumption. The best way to be inconspicuous is to be conspicuous! Like hiding out in the open. No one would expect it. You can pretend to be my doctor."

"Consumption?" said Jim. "You'd expect people to believe that?" he said, gesturing.

Artie looked down at himself. "What?"

"Victims of consumption look like they're wasting away. You don't fit that bill."

Artie made a face. "Why, thank you…I think. I'll just wear clothes that are too big, it'll give the illusion of losing weight."

"Do you _have_ any clothes that are too big?"

Artie looked at him. The twinkle that was usually in his eyes was dulled by fatigue. "Well, _you're_ in rare form."

"I try. But really, Artie, you can't possibly be up to this…you had a fever last night."

"We can't turn down an assignment, Jim," Artie said, before coughing again. "Besides, we're not far from the border; we could reach the town by this afternoon. It won't make sense to send anyone else."

"Circumstances that are out of our control isn't turning them down," Jim argued. His face suddenly brightened. "I know, I'll tell them that we're having engine trouble with the train—"

"Jim," Artie said. "There are a number of ways that Richmond could verify the truth—or lie—in that statement. We have a new assignment, and that's that. I'll be fine. The consumption angle will work…everyone will ignore us."

Jim sighed, hoping that Artie was right.

TBC

Hey everyone…I started writing this story months ago, but then I ended up writing others that I kept up with and posted instead. The other night, I realized that I didn't have a story ready to post; I only have the first two chapters of this one written, and a later chapter that I wrote ahead of time. I wasn't going to start posting until I had more, but I know that you're all expecting a post from me today, so here it is! I'll try to write as fast as possible, but take this as a warning that you might have to wait longer than usual for new chapters!


	2. The Ruse

Every person in the saloon looked up when they heard sudden coughing, and watched as an obviously sick man was escorted inside by another man who was holding onto his arm. The healthy man was wearing glasses and carrying a doctor's bag, while the sick one shuffled as he walked, appearing weak. His eyes were drooping with fatigue and his face looked as if he hadn't had the energy to shave that morning. They walked to the nearest empty table, and the doctor helped his patient sit.

"Hey," a stranger at the bar yelled to Jim. "What's wrong with yer friend?"

_And Artie said that everyone would ignore us! _Jim thought. "Do I know you?" he asked.

"No."

"Does _he_ know you?" Jim said, gesturing to Artie.

"No."

"Then I can't answer. Doctor/patient confidentiality, and all that."

"He better not be spreadin' influenza through the town!" the man said.

Jim and Artie suddenly realized that the entire saloon was watching, and many people looked upset.

"You can tell them, doctor," Artie said.

Jim nodded. "My patient has consumption, which, as you know, is not contagious."*

The man walked over to the table to get a closer look at Artie, who looked up blearily.

Jim wondered just how much of Artie's behavior was an act, considering that he really _was_ sick.

The man walked around Artie, studying him. He seemed to notice that Artie's clothes were too big, which confirmed Jim's statement.

_Good thinking, Artie, _Jim thought.

"Whatcha doin' in town?" the man asked. "Did you come from the east, and bring influenza here with you?" He obviously was still skeptical.

So influenza was currently working its way west. Well, Artie had to have caught it from _somewhere_. "I'm from up north, and need to live in a warmer climate now," Artie said, slowly.

_Good thinking, again._

The man stared at him for another minute, before heading back over to the bar, apparently satisfied.

Artie shot Jim a look of relief, before a girl suddenly appeared at their table.

"You poor thing," she said to Artie. "Can I get you something to drink? It's on the house."

Artie gave her a tired but charming smile. "How nice of you, my dear."

"Bring him something warm," said Jim. "It'll help his chest."

"Oh, of course. I'll get you both some coffee." She smiled as she walked off.

Artie abruptly started coughing, sticking a handkerchief against his face. He suddenly had to sneeze, which didn't go along with consumption, so he pinched his nose shut and hoped that no one noticed the slight jerk of his body.

Jim noticed, naturally, and looked around, but Artie had been right; everyone was now ignoring them, perceiving them as being harmless.

The waitress suddenly returned. "Here you are, gentlemen," she said, placing a cup in front of each of them with milk and sugar, and leaving the pot on the table. "Would you like something to eat?"

Artie, keeping with the consumption ruse, shook his head. "No, thank you. I'm not hungry."

"Oh, but you need to eat to keep up your strength!" she exclaimed. "I'll get you some of my special muffins, no one can resist those, hungry or not!" With that, she hurried back to the kitchen.

Jim and Artie watched her go.

"That's sweet," Artie remarked.

Jim nodded.

The waitress came back quickly, with two plates containing heated blueberry muffins, slathered with butter and sprinkled with sugar.

Artie's eyes opened wider at the sight as she placed a plate in front of him. They smelled _delicious_. "Thank you," he said. "I think you may have just awoken the appetite that I used to have."

She smiled ear-to-ear at that. "I'm so glad!" she said, patting his back. "Enjoy!"

Artie smiled at her again, and she walked off. Looking at the muffins, he quickly grabbed his fork.

"Artie," Jim whispered. "Slow down."

Artie obeyed. It certainly wouldn't look right to everyone for the consumption patient to devour his food. He cut one of the muffins with his fork and took a bite, his eyes closing in bliss.

Jim fought the urge to roll his eyes. Artie was ever the gourmet.

When they were ready to leave, the waitress wouldn't take their money, in sympathy towards Artie's plight. He couldn't help but kiss her hand as they left.

Walking out of the saloon, Artie suddenly groaned. "Oh no."

Jim looked at him. "What?"

"I hope I didn't just give my cold to that nice girl," Artie said.

Jim winced at that.

Artie sighed, coughing as they mounted their horses. "You didn't spot Parker in there, I assume?"

Jim shook his head. "No, you?"

"No."

They rode through the town, looking at every face that they saw.

Artie kept coughing, and Jim was growing more concerned. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

"I'm fine," Artie lied.

Jim sighed.

The day of searching didn't yield any results, and Jim and Artie went to the hotel for dinner.

Artie didn't have to act the part of the not-hungry consumption patient; he really didn't feel like eating, and tiredly played with his food more than he ate.

At first, Jim thought that he was simply playing the role, until Artie ate much less of the chicken and dumplings stew—which he knew that Artie loved—than he expected. "Come, now," he said, adjusting the fake glasses that rested on his face. "You need to eat to keep up your strength."

Artie looked at him, knowing that it wasn't the 'doctor' speaking to his 'patient', but it was Jim telling him for real. He sighed and took another bite.

Jim lingered at the table for as long as possible, so that Artie would eat as much as he could. Eventually, they left and went up to their room.

Artie sat on his bed, coughing again. He reached up to rub his aching forehead, and found with surprise that his fever had returned. He lowered his hand and hoped that Jim wouldn't be able to tell, like he had the previous night.

Jim went over to the pitcher and poured his friend a glass of water again. "Here."

Artie sat up and drank it, having to stop in the middle to cough again.

Jim watched him. "I don't think this is going to work."

Artie looked at him as he put the cup on the nightstand. "What do you mean?"

"You shouldn't be working, you're going to make yourself worse."

Artie remained sitting up, trying to look as healthy as possible. "People walk around with colds all the time, Jim."

"Stop deceiving yourself, Artie," Jim said. "Or _me_, rather. You know that it's influenza."

"I don't feel that sick, Jim," Artie lied. "The coughing is the worst part."

Jim just looked at him. Without warning, he suddenly reached over and felt Artie's forehead.

Artie was startled, and didn't have time to pull away.

"You have a fever, but 'don't feel that sick'?" Jim said.

Artie shook his aching head, dislodging Jim's hand. He smiled brightly. "I'll prove it. Bring me a girl, and I'll dance the night away."

Jim sighed, heavily. He knew that Artie didn't like when he worried about him. "I know you, Artie," he said. "The more you try to convince me that you're fine, the worse I know you actually feel."

Artie echoed the sigh. Of course, sighing made him cough, which certainly didn't help his case any. He quickly put the handkerchief over his face so the germs wouldn't spread to his friend.

The coughing was harsh, and Jim shook his head. "Stop worrying about _me_, Artie…worry about yourself," he said.

Artie took a deep breath…or as deep a breath as he was able. He opened his eyes and shifted to lie down. "I just need sleep," he said.

"Don't you want to change your clothes first?" Jim asked.

Artie looked at the clock, finding it to be 7pm. "It's too early, we should hunt for Parker after dark." He doubted that Jim would let him leave the room, now, but he said it anyway.

Jim gave his friend an exasperated look. "You're not going _anywhere_ tonight, Artie."

Artie shrugged. "I knew you'd say that, but it was worth a try. Fine, I'll rest tonight and be much better in the morning, you'll see."

Jim hoped that he was right.

After Artie had changed into his nightclothes, Jim put a wet cloth on his forehead. "If you need anything, tell me," he commanded.

Artie closed his eyes and nodded, enjoying the feel of the cold cloth on his hot, aching forehead. He coughed a few more times before falling asleep.

Jim quietly paced in the room. Looking for Parker after dark was exactly what they _should_ be doing, as that's when he might be out in the open. Jim couldn't do that and leave Artie alone, though…_I knew that I should've refused this assignment! _he thought.

TBC

*Consumption, (which we call tuberculosis now) wasn't known as being contagious until 1895!


	3. The Show Must Go On

Just after midnight, Artie woke abruptly, choking. He immediately closed his mouth and covered it with a hand, desperately trying to suppress the coughing reflex, not wanting to wake Jim. Apparently, some mucus from his lungs had gotten stuck in a bad spot, and he could hardly take a breath.

A hand suddenly grabbed Artie's shoulder and sat him up. "Cough, Artie, don't hold it in."

Artie obeyed for two reasons: the first being that Jim's sudden appearance had startled him, and the second being that he couldn't suppress it anymore. He fumbled around for his handkerchief, and a clean one was suddenly placed into his hand. It took a minute for him to cough up all of the gunk that had settled in his lungs while he'd slept, and Jim again gave him some water.

"Sorry," Artie said, handing him back the empty glass.

Jim shook his head and sat on the side of the bed. "I don't care of you wake me up; this is serious. If you don't cough, I'll wake up anyway, wondering if you drowned in your sleep."

One side of Artie's mouth lifted in a half-grin.

Jim pushed on his friend's shoulder. "Lie down."

Artie obeyed.

Jim checked Artie's fever and found it unchanged. His temperature wasn't high, at least, and Jim rewet the cloth before replacing it on his friend's forehead. "Need anything else?"

Artie shook his head.

"Then go back to sleep," Jim commanded.

Artie gave him a slight smile, before dropping off.

Jim sat there for another minute, before noiselessly sighing and going back to bed.

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Artie woke up coughing twice more during the night, and when morning came, he lay there feeling like he'd never gone to sleep. He could barely keep his eyes open, but he knew that he and Jim had an important job to do. _T__he show must go on, _he told himself, vowing to be much better by the time that Jim woke up…or at least, he planned to let Jim _think_ he was.

Artie almost groaned, wishing that he could just let go and admit to himself that he was a mere human and needed to rest, but instead, he had to hold his breath when his lungs spasmed. Forcing away the coughing reflex was nearly impossible, but he somehow managed…or he _thought_ he did. He must've made some sound, because Jim suddenly turned over and sat up.

As if his lungs had a mind of their own and said to themselves, 'Jim's awake, you don't have to be quiet anymore!', Artie could no longer suppress it and finally started to cough.

Jim got out of his bed and headed over to Artie's, pouring him another glass of water. He waited until the coughing fit ended before he handed it to his friend. "How do you feel?" he asked.

Artie pushed himself up on one elbow and took the glass. He drank it before answering, "Much better."

Jim's eyebrows shot up.

Artie smiled, using all of his acting ability. "Much better," he repeated, putting the glass on the nightstand and sitting up all the way. He felt his own forehead. "Fever's gone," he lied, and stood up before Jim could check for himself.

Jim said nothing, staring. Artie _had_ gone to bed very early, and had slept for many hours despite the few times that he had woken up coughing. Could the extra sleep have done the job? He supposed that it was possible. "That's good to hear," he said. "Are you hungry?"

Artie wasn't hungry at all. "Of course I am, Jim…when am I not?"

Jim smiled at that, before crossing over to get his clothes.

Not long after, they were heading into the hotel's dining room…Jim wearing his fake glasses, and Artie wearing his too-big clothes.

The walk down the stairs bothered Artie's lungs, and he coughed into a handkerchief as they approached a table. He caught many women giving him sympathetic looks, thinking him dying from consumption, and he gave them a very brave smile as he sat.

The coffee helped Artie wake up a little more, and he ate enough to satisfy Jim, but little enough to keep up with his ruse. Soon, they finished and headed out the door.

Spotting the sheriff's office, Jim looked around to see if anyone was watching them. "Let's find out if the sheriff has any information," he said.

Artie nodded and followed.

The sheriff knew that they were coming, and wasn't surprised when they walked in. "Ah…Mr. West, Mr. Gordon," he said, shaking their hands.

Artie shook his hand before mentally wincing. If he wasn't careful, he _was_ going to spread influenza through the town.

"I have no more information on Parker," the sheriff told them. "He's hiding well."

Jim nodded. "I'm not surprised."

Artie coughed, covering his mouth with a handkerchief.

The sheriff suddenly noticed that Artie was wearing clothes that were too big. "What in the world?" he said.

"My latest disguise," Artie told him. "Consumption."

The sheriff smiled. "Aha! It must be a lot of fun to be an actor. Hey, now that you mention it, I saw you on stage once! You were Hamlet!"

Artie's eyebrows shot up. "You did? Did you like the show?"

"Like it?" the sheriff said. "It was amazing! I'd gone home to Chicago to visit my mother, and took her to your play. She said that you were the best Hamlet she'd ever seen."

Artie was smiling ear-to-ear. "Did she! I think I still have a couple of playbills from that show…remind me to autograph one and give it to you for her."

"She'd be tickled pink to have that!" the sheriff said.

Jim stood by, trying not to laugh. How Artie loved his fans. He started heading towards the door, not wanting anyone to find them with the sheriff and figure out who they were.

Artie nodded. "It's no trouble at all!" He followed Jim. "I'll make sure to get one the next time we go back to the train."

"All right," said the sheriff. "Thanks!"

Artie smiled and they left, heading towards the livery stable. As soon as they'd gotten far enough away, Artie started coughing again.

Jim looked at him, concerned at how long it lasted.

Artie shook his head at Jim to tell him that he was all right. "I was holding it in," he exclaimed, his voice sounding hoarse again. "Didn't want the sheriff to know the truth."

Jim sighed. "If you end up feeling worse again, I hope that you're going to tell me."

Artie gave no answer as they continued on.

"Influenza is nothing to fool around with," Jim continued. "You may be feeling better, but it might just be temporary."

Artie didn't correct him this time, since Jim was right; he'd caught influenza, not a cold, and he didn't feel well at all; his head ached, his throat was sore, his nose was stuffed, and of course, the cough. "Don't worry about me, Jim," he said. "I'm fine."

Jim sighed, but didn't contradict him.

They arrived at the livery stable a minute later and lead their horses out.

Jim watched as Artie mounted. "Are you sure about this?"

Artie looked at him. "About what?"

"You don't have to come," Jim said. "You should stay at the hotel and rest. I can investigate on my own."

Artie shook his head. "And miss all the fun?" He chuckled, but it turned into another cough. He shoved the handkerchief against his face and kicked his horse into a walk before Jim could make him stay.

Jim sighed again, and followed.

TBC


	4. Long Night

Being in disguise, Jim and Artie couldn't follow their usual method of investigating: asking questions and getting information. With this case, everything relied on what they saw and eavesdropped on.

They rode to the outskirts of town, with the pretense of locating a place for Artie to settle down in the 'warmer climate'. Their true purpose, of course, was to search for a potential hideout for Parker and his gang.

Artie had hoped that riding his horse might calm his coughing, considering that he wasn't walking, but it apparently didn't matter; he coughed the whole way.

Eventually, Artie stopped his horse and drank half of his canteen.

Jim watched him. "Artie," he said. "Maybe we should go back to the train and telegraph Richmond that you're sick, and we'll handle this case after you've recovered."

Artie lowered his canteen. "What?" he said. "We have a job to do." He screwed the cap back on, trying to swallow the coughing reflex when his lungs spasmed again. "We're already here." He kicked his horse into a walk again, not giving Jim time to answer.

Jim shook his head and followed. Artie certainly could be stubborn when he wanted to be!

They came across a few empty shacks, but there were no indications that any of them were being inhabited. They headed back and had lunch, before heading to the other side of town.

Artie rubbed his sleeve across his forehead, suddenly feeling dizzy. He started coughing again and sneezed in the middle, turning his coughing into a half-choke.

"Artie?" said Jim.

"What?" he answered, sneezing again. It made his head spin.

"What are your symptoms?"

Artie didn't expect that question, and looked at him. "Huh?"

"Well," said Jim. "I know that if I ask you how you feel, you'll say 'fine', so I figured that asking your symptoms is the only way that I'll get the truth."

Artie sighed, which made him cough again. He nearly growled in frustration. "I'm fine."

"That's not what I asked," said Jim.

"I'm just coughing, that's all," Artie said.

Jim sighed. "You know, Artie, for such a great actor, you make a terrible liar. How about if I guess? Sore throat, headache, stuffy nose?"

Artie looked at him, before giving in. "A little."

"A _little_," Jim echoed. He stopped his horse and turned around. "Let's call it a day and go back to the hotel."

"No," Artie said. He kept going, and Jim had no choice but to turn around and follow.

It was another wasted day…they both began to wonder if the Parker Gang was really there. For all they knew, they might have been in town temporarily and had already left.

Finally, it was dinnertime, and they headed back to the hotel.

Artie was so tired that he nearly fell asleep while eating, and it took a lot of effort to climb the stairs to their room. He collapsed onto his bed limply, eyes closed.

A hand touched his forehead, but he was too tired to resist or react. He heard Jim sigh when he found the fever, and suddenly a pair of hands were trying to pull his jacket off him. A few minutes later, Artie was changed and in bed, and fell asleep without ever saying a word.

Jim retrieved a bowl of water and dropped a towel into it, before feeling Artie's forehead again. The fever was higher now than it had been the other times, and as he wrung out the towel, he had a feeling that this was going to be a long night.

Jim was right.

Artie's fever spiked a few hours later, and his sleep grew restless. When he woke up coughing, he was never fully aware, and didn't respond to Jim's questions. He either stared glassy-eyed at nothing, or said things that didn't make sense.

"Where's my horse?" he asked Jim at one point.

"Your horse?" Jim said, patting the wet towel over his friend's hot face.

Artie blinked sleepily, closing his eyes when a drop of water landed in one of them. "I don't see her."

"That's because she isn't here, Artie," Jim answered, wiping the water away. "She's in the livery stable."

"Why?" Artie asked, eyes still closed.

"We're in a hotel," Jim told him. "You have a fever."

Artie made no reply to that, and Jim realized that he'd fallen back to sleep.

The night and morning passed that way, and around noon, Artie's eyes suddenly popped open and he grabbed Jim's arm. "No, Jim, we can't go in that house!" he exclaimed.

Jim was startled. "We're not going into any house, Artie, you were dreaming."

Artie started coughing, his grip on Jim's arm tightening. His eyes were glazed when he looked up at him. "His mother's spirit is part of that house…she'll take us prisoner!"

Jim frowned. "Whose mother?"

"Liston Day's," Artie said. "She won't let us leave with him…she wants to keep him there."*

Jim removed the wet towel and felt Artie's forehead, finding it cooler than last night. He dropped it back into the bowl and gripped his friend's shoulders. "Artie, listen to me, you were dreaming. You've had a high fever all night."

Suddenly, Artie's eyes cleared and the tension left his body. He let out a breath and closed his eyes, coughing again.

Jim felt his forehead again, finding the fever greatly reduced but still present. He took the towel out of the bowl, wrung it out, and patted it over his friend's face before placing it back on his forehead.

Suddenly, Artie reopened his eyes, once again animated. "No, Jim…I know it was a dream, I woke up after it, but we still found the house again! The first dream was a premonition!" He then frowned, realizing how bizarre he sounded.

Jim once again took hold of his friend's arms. "Artie, look around. We're in a Nevada hotel, after being sent here to capture the Parker Gang. You're sick, so you came up with an idea to pretend to be a consumption patient and me your doctor, remember?"

Artie blinked, looking around the room as he finally gained complete coherence. "Oh," he said, closing his eyes. "Sorry, Jim."

"It's not _your_ fault that your brain was half-fried last night," Jim said. "Just take it easy."

Artie cracked a smile at the comment, before reopening his eyes again. He felt like he'd been run over by a stagecoach. "I can't believe that was a dream. It felt so real...especially after I 'woke up'." He coughed again, trying not to wince when it hurt his chest. "Now I know why I walked into that house again despite the dream…because I was _still_ dreaming."

"You can tell me all about it later, after you've eaten."

Artie made a face.

Jim frowned at that. "Does your stomach feel sick?"

Artie shook his head and closed his eyes. "Just not hungry."

"You have to eat, Artie. Your body needs fuel to fight the illness," Jim said. "I'll have the hotel bring something up. What will you eat?"

Artemus said nothing.

"Artie?" Jim realized that his friend had fallen back to sleep. Startled at the abruptness, he felt the pulse on Artie's wrist, finding it fast but steady. Laying his friend's arm back on the bed, Jim stood. _I knew we should never have taken this assignment! _he thought, again.

Jim sighed, and came to a decision; Artie was too sick to continue working the case, and Jim couldn't do it and leave Artie alone to take care of himself, especially with the fever that could easily rise again. He needed to send Richmond a telegram notifying him of their situation.

Quietly, Jim studied his friend, seeing that Artie was sleeping deeply. He had no idea how long Artie would sleep before he woke up coughing again, so he quickly headed for the door and left the room, heading down the stairs and out of the hotel, rushing over to the telegraph office.

The man inside looked up as Jim came in. "Can I help you?" he asked.

Jim nodded. "I need to send a telegram."

The man nodded and handed him a piece of paper and a pencil.

Jim took them before hesitating. He couldn't blow their cover…for all he knew, Parker had friends in this town, and that was why they were having such bad luck finding him. Thinking for a minute, he started to write.

_Artie very ill, we cannot continue here; will contact you again after we leave town._

Jim reread it before handing it to the clerk.

The man started clicking away, before frowning.

"What is it?" Jim asked.

The man tapped the key again. "It's dead."

Jim blinked. "What? Why?"

"I don't know," said the clerk, continuing to tap it.

Jim walked around the counter and bent down to grab the wire. He traced it to the ceiling where it disappeared, and gave it a tug. The wire came out of the hole, and Jim looked at the end.

"It broke?" the man asked.

Jim frowned. "It was cut," he answered. Suddenly, a terrible thought struck him, and he ran back around the counter and out the door, heading back towards the hotel. He ran in and dashed up the stairs, throwing open the door to his and Artie's room, and finding exactly what he'd feared…

Artie was gone.

TBC

*Episode 'The Man-Eating House', of course! I always wondered to myself why on earth, after having such a horrible, scary dream, would Artie walk into that house just like he did in the dream? Months before I wrote this story, I thought up the notion that, eureka, it's because Artie was STILL dreaming! LOL!


	5. Where's Artie?

Jim quickly searched the hotel room for clues on what had become of his friend. It was obvious that Parker had taken Artie, but how on earth had he discovered who they were and what they were there for? What did he plan to do with Artie? With his friend being so sick, Jim was beside himself at the notion of Artie being held prisoner.

Quickly, Jim ran down the stairs to the front desk, where a clerk stood. "Did you see a group of men come in here in the last ten minutes?" he asked.

The clerk shook his head. "No…I was in the kitchen for a while. You didn't hear that crash? A whole pile of pots somehow went flying…all the cooks are denying whose fault it was."

Jim sighed. Of course they were…none of the cooks were at fault; it had obviously been a diversion created by one of the Parker Gang. Suddenly, he noticed an envelope in the slot for room 12. "Someone left me a message?" he asked.

The clerk turned around and saw it. He frowned. "No one gave it to _me_," he said. Grabbing it, he handed it to Jim.

Quickly, Jim tore it open to find four words: _Come and get him._ He turned the paper around to find a sketch of an old house. "Where is this?" he asked, showing it to the clerk.

The man frowned. "I don't know...it looks abandoned."

Jim sighed. _Perfect place for a band of criminals to hole up._ "Do you have any idea where it _might_ be?"

The clerk shook his head. "I've seen empty shacks around, but not a big place like that."

Jim sighed. Apparently, the Parker Gang wasn't making this easy…and Jim wondered what shape Artie would be in once he found him.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Artie woke with a worse headache than he already had. He groaned, before coughing, the gunk in his lungs having settled while he'd been unconscious.

"Oh please, Mr. Gordon," he suddenly heard. "You don't have to keep up with your ruse any longer."

Artie was extremely startled to hear the stranger's voice, and jumped, opening his eyes and finding himself lying on the floor in a place that he didn't recognize. He also found that he was tied up, and struggled for a few seconds, despite his audience. Disoriented both from the fever and the head injury, he mumbled, "Ruse?"

"I know who you are," said the man. "Artemus Gordon; famous actor and man of disguise, more recently an even more famous Secret Service agent for President Grant. I know that you and James West came to hunt me down. What I _don't_ understand is your choice of disguise. Why draw such attention to yourself in the saloon two days ago?"

Artie blinked a few times, very confused. The last thing he remembered was being locked in a house that was haunted by the spirit of a woman who tried to keep him and Jim prisoner. He remembered that it had been a dream, but he still had no idea how on earth he'd ended up in Parker's clutches. "Because it wasn't really a disguise," Artie answered, coughing again and trying to shift his position. There was no way that he was going to get free of his bonds…not at the moment, at least; he felt weak and his head was throbbing. It was obvious that he'd been knocked out. He suddenly wondered what had happened to Jim.

Parker's eyebrows shot up, and he smiled. "One of Grant's best agents has fallen prey to consumption? Forgive my lack of sympathy! I can't believe that you're still working. Such devotion! How long did your doctor give you to live?"

Artie shook his aching head and closed his eyes. "I don't have consumption. It's influenza."

Parker laughed again. "Good trick, trying to keep me away from you."

"I'm serious," Artie said. "Do you think I can fake a fever? Come check for yourself."

Parker took a few steps to get a better look at Artie, before his smile disappeared and he stepped back. "Are you insane? You're spreading it through the town!"

"I've tried my best not to," Artie replied, re-opening his eyes. "When the president gives you a mission, you don't refuse."

"You _are_ devoted," said Parker.

"I _have_ to be, to keep innocent people safe from criminals like you," Artie said, closing his eyes again. "Where's Jim?"

Parker shrugged. "Looking for _you_, I'm sure. I doubt that he'll find you…at least, not for a while."

Artie sighed. He was relieved to hear that his friend was safe. "We'll see. Now would you mind not talking anymore? My head hurts."

Parker chuckled. Saying nothing else, he turned and left the room.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

In the meantime, Jim was scouring the town for anyone who recognized the house and could tell him where to find it. Surprisingly, he wasn't finding anyone who knew, and his anger at the Parker Gang was growing. Artie was in no shape to handle the danger that he was now in, and Jim vowed to himself that he was going to find his friend and make Parker _pay_ for this…

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Hours passed, and Artie slept on and off, still coughing just as much and wishing desperately for some water. It was evening when Parker came back, with two of his gang members. One of them was carrying a chair. "It is time for us to leave you," he said.

Artie frowned. "Oh, were you here all this time? I guess I wasn't paying attention."

Parker said nothing, as the other two men headed over to Artie and cut his bonds before roughly pulling him off the floor, tossing him into the chair and tying him to it.

"What's the point of _this_?" Artie asked. He'd been tied up on the floor, why tie him to a chair now?

"To make it harder for West to rescue you," Parker said. "Rather…to make it _impossible_ for him, should he arrive in time." Parker walked over to the other side of the room. "What is it that we do, Gordon?"

A chill shot down Artie's spine. "Arson."

Parker nodded. "That's right." He struck a match, and threw it at a curtain.

Artie watched with shock as the fabric went up in flames. "Parker—" he said.

"Save your breath, Gordon," Parker cut in, with a smirk. "You're going to need it." With that, he and his men headed for the door and left.

Artie watched with fear as the flames started to make their way across the wall. He struggled to get loose or move the chair towards the door, but it was no use…they'd wrapped the rope around his legs _and_ the chair legs, providing him no leverage to hop. He knew that they'd chosen the heavy dining room chair purposely to make it hard for him to move it, and he realized with shock that if Jim didn't arrive within the next few minutes, he was going to die a terrible death…

TBC


End file.

Wild Wild West, Angst, Drama